If you don't like this, we can't be friends.

By the time the dramatic fireworks start popping off, each one feels earned.

An old-fashioned movie made with new-fashioned finesse.

It is a whirlwind of delight --- attractive actors, stunning couture, spectacular sets and outrageous parties. It's a feast for the eyes. But what really makes this dramedy work is the acting.

...A romantic way to go...if there was such a way. But Ben never used to be like that. At the start of this neon soaked masterpiece we see Ben ridding himself of the last remnants of family life and leaving it all behind for the drink. We see a photo of himself, his wife and his son before the drink had a grip on him. You could say that Ben had it all but he was always chasing something more elusive - that his family could not provide him. Things fell down for him like dominoes, his friends, his job, his family...everything......but the drink was always there like a loyal friend. Ben was a man that could not be stopped....he was pushing that self-destruct button hard an that is how it was for Ben.Sera with an "E". S-E-R-A....on the other hand was a lonely prostitute who you always felt was always striving to feel loved - loved in the context of something more deeper or spiritual and not the kind of superficial 'love' she was getting from her clients, No, she always was seeking to be loved by the men in her life.On the outset this doesn't seem like you typical romantic flick but there is something oddly romantic about it nonetheless. Especially considering they are both on the fast track to oblivion. They hadn't much but at least they had each other....but not for long - something had to give in this high inflammable relationship. You could see where the relationship was going but that didn't make it any easier.'Sting' provides us with the Jazzy soundtrack that really gives the film an extra boost and sets up the atmosphere nicely in Sin City. Nicolas Cage in his best performance of his career plays a great drunk and Elisabeth Shue should have won an academy award for her portrayal of a lost soul. 'Leaving Las Vegas' is a deeply sad portrayal of a man who once had it all - he is perceptive of his situation and he knows what he wants and in that same breath it is a romantic way to go.

It is brave of Mike Figgis to telegraph the ending of this story. Most films would not get away with this, and most directors would not dare try. In Leaving Las Vegas, Ben Sanderson has decided to drink his life away. He has already lost his wife, kids and jobs, and been left with a generous (too generous, in his opinion) severance check with which he will drown his sorrows in. Somehow, we believe him. Cage's performance is convincing enough, and full of despair, that we are never once not convinced that at the end of the film, he will die. Ben knows it. And so does Sera, the prostitute that takes a liking to him. But we and her also hold onto that faint glimmer of hope that things won't turn out that way. Thank goodness Figgis has stuck to his guns and maintained his integrity. If by some miraculous incident Ben had managed to survive the film, it would be robbed of all its power, and it would contradict every painful movement and word that Cage utters. The film is a bit of a sensory overload. Figgis has shot Las Vegas in an attempt to immortalise each moment the pair spend in it, in all its beauty and chaos. A favoured and re-used technique drops the frame- rate and shutter speed so the night-time lights and sounds blare from indistinct sources, and the POV struggles and stagger around, the world whirling around it in all its drunken stupour. The soundtrack is an unrelenting mass of bluesy jazz, with saxophone amping the neo-noir feel. We are meant to be drinking along, or puffing on a cigarette and staring out the window at the neon sign flickering across the street. The most noticeable effect is the slow motion. Figgis heightens each tiny intimacy between Ben and Sera - one in particular is later re- used for the final, admittedly goofy, freeze frame. This all seems overly dramatic, and it is at times. While a film like My Own Private Idaho might forge immense emotional crevasses with its sparseness, Leaving Las Vegas feels the need to linger, often for too long. Figgis also shows an awareness of the conventional expectations of the his archetypes, and is smart enough to subvert. Ben is the suicidal alcoholic. Sera is the hooker with the heart of gold. The meet cute type situation would normally be sweet, and move the pair towards redemption and happiness. Quite a few scenes are actually framed in this way, and would neatly fit into one of those romantic-comedies, if not for the emotional baggage that has already been acquired. They dine and finely comb each others lives, but here they are not so guarded. They dive into an impromptu moment of sexual passion, but once again Ben's love of the drink ruins it (later he showers with a bottle, caressing it tenderly as if it was the female form). And they walk in the night, and Figgis does the thing where the score takes over, and we can see their mouths moving and laughing, but not what they are actually saying, so we are forced to use our own experiences to fill in the speech bubbles. This all seems so familiar, so it is heartbreaking that it is so sure of its ultimate demise. Many have indicated that Sera's attraction to Ben seems illogical - that a real hooker would not stick out her neck for such a self-destructive person. I think it is in fact this quality that Sera finds solace in. Ben tells her to never stop him drinking. She agrees, and in return, asks that she be spared judgement solely because of her occupation. They are totally comfortable in these roles, even as they are completely honest about how desolate and aimless they are. These sorts of completely non-judgemental relationships can only exist in brief vacuums, because sooner or later someone will hurt themselves beyond reason, and one will judge the other's destructive behaviour. So Sera begs him to get medical care, even as she knows that is is unfair of her to ask this because of their agreement. She fights an inner battle, pouring liquor all over her body as if it was the only way to entice him sexually. She is found in the kitchen like a good little housewife, cutting up her vegetables and preparing a meal, while he enters and leaves with a bottle without so much as looking at her. Shue's role is crucial because she has the choice to force herself out of the situation after Yuri leaves, but not the willpower and strength to execute it. So she wallows in despair along with Ben, and after a while, decides that she can fix him. He becomes a goal, something she has not set herself for a very long time. Shue's performance here is overlooked. Cage got the Oscar because he had external flashiness, the type that no one would miss. But Shue has a tremendously vulnerable quality. In her therapy sessions she brags that she has complete control of each of her clients, and that she is proud of how carefully she has distanced herself from the stigma of the job and kept her persona strong. So when Shue wavers, it is heartbreaking. When she discovers Ben at home with another prostitute, her entire face crumbles like a little girl, and it is as far away from that bragging woman as we can get.

"Leaving Las Vegas" is about two sides of the same coin that need each other to feel complete. It is hard hitting and incredibly realistic. Nicolas Cage is perfectly cast for his crazy acting style as a raging alcoholic, and he gives an incredibly heart rending and accurate performance. Elisabeth Shue gives the performance of her career as a desperate and abused prostitute that begins to cling to Cage in his final, suffering days.Ben Sanderson is a failed screenwriter that once had a wife and a kid, but is now an alcoholic. He drinks when he wakes up and drinks himself to sleep everyday. When he doesn't get a drink, he goes into withdrawal. It is unclear whether he was a drunk before or after his wife left him, but it seems he no longer remembers nor cares. He is hopeless, and knows this, but when he is fired from his job, he decides to finally just leave everything behind and move to Las Vegas. He gets a room in a hotel called "The Whole Year Inn", or as he sees it, "The Hole You're In".Here he meets Sera, a hooker who is abused by her boss, but convinces herself that her life is just as good as she wants it to be. She says that every man she sleeps with is like a performance, she becomes whoever they want her to be. This is until Ben pays her and invites her to his hotel room. However, Ben doesn't want to have sex with her. They stay up and just talk, and Sera accidentally falls asleep and spends the night. But she finds that she was herself around another human being for the first time that night. She knew that Ben was hopeless, and he made her feel wanted and not alone. Once her abusive boss is killed, she starts to go out more with Ben. She invites him into her home, and he agrees to stay, only after telling her what she will have to deal with. She feels truly loved by him, and most importantly, not alone. She knows that she can't stop his alcoholism, and he knows that he can't stop her being a hooker. They have both dug themselves into that hole, and no matter how much abuse they take, they can't get out. And the only ones that could possibly put up with their lifestyles, is each other. Or, at first, at least. Their lifestyles begin to tear each other apart. Sera knows that Ben will die and Ben knows Sera is with other men. They are torn apart, and Sera has a horrible night in which she is abused and raped by some teenagers. She is kicked out of her house, and she realizes that she is powerless and lost without Ben. She finds Ben as he is on his deathbed, and in Bens final moments, he has sex with her, showing that he truly loves her, and accepted that she won't change. And Sera doesn't try to help Ben, showing she accepts that he won't change. Ben dies and Sera lives on without him, but Sera knew that it would happen eventually. The film is depressing, but it is unwavering in its harsh depiction of the hole these characters are in. It knows that the only way for them to leave Las Vegas is to die. They needed each other to be complete, but their relationship was doomed from the start because of the position they were each in. It is almost completely hopeless and the characters only get more depressed and cynical, but thats the way it needs to be. This film is to alcohol, as "Requiem for a Dream" is to drugs.

Upon my first ever viewing (I know) of Mike Figgis's Leaving Las Vegas last night, I discovered that it's not the film I thought it was all these years. I had an image of a quirky, star crossed lovers tale with a modicum of sweetness. What I got wasn't insanely far off the mark, but I have to say I was disarmed and deeply affected by the sense of decaying bitterness which prevails throughout the story and hangs over it like the sour, neon stained moon over a feverish, perpetually nocturnal Vegas. Every character besides the two leads sort of flits dimly in and out of the story, never having any impact further than they need to service the plot with. This leaves Nicolas Cage and Elizabeth Shue eerily alienated and gives the movie a hypnotic flair. Even though these two abide in a bustling setting, it oddly seems at times that they are the only two human beings in existence. That also most likely stems from the film's willingness to take the time to get to know them, lingering on every glance, murmur and mannerism, be it mundane or essential, to try and get a feel for these two completely broken souls. Cage is Ben, a failing Hollywood screenwriter who is quite literally drowning in alcoholism, plagued by some tragic past of which we never learn about. He is fired and splits for Vegas to hole up in a motel and deliberately drink himself to death. There he meets Sera (Shue) a hooker with a heart of gold (Shue torches the cliché bravely). They are immediately attracted, and begin a relationship. She continues to see Johns, after being freed of her sadistic Latvian pimp (Julian Sands, terrifying). He makes her promise to not attempt to stop his drinking. Their romance is born out of the primal loneliness that each human being feels to a certain extent, that instinctual urge to reach out and grab for anything, anyone to put out the pain. Cage is everything in the role: pathetic, charming, sad, manic, desperate and deeply, scarily committed to his lethal quest of inebriation. The scenes of liquor consumption in this film go beyond excess and make Denzel in Flight look like a high schooler. It will make many uncomfortable, but looking away for our own peace of mind takes away from the urgency and dark poetry of Cage's situation. Booze is a low burn, but it's still suicide, and an agonizing method for anyone to behold in action: the person has an extended period of time to rethink, reevaluate, and if they don't, then their resolve is extended and far more disturbing than a split second decision. Cage displays this in harrowing form in a career highlight. Elizabeth Shue is heartbreaking as the girl who loves him but can't quite say why, a girl who has spent years in loveless copulation, confused and torn upon feeling it for the first time. Her character goes through some truly hellish things here. You will cry for her, fall in love with her alongside Cage and swell with admiration at her steely resilience in the face of some of the ugliest things life has to offer her. Each member of the supporting cast is like a star in the desert sky, a moment of flickering purpose before fading into the background again to let Cage and Shue continue their dance of the damned. Graham Beckel as a shaken bartender, Xander Berkeley as a cynical cab driver, Valeria Golino as as a Barfly and R. Lee Ermey as a taken aback conventioneer are all perfect. Director Mike Figgis composed the score himself, a moody blues melody that clings to your perception after the film like a dream that won't let go. Just to make the film more haunting, it's based on a novel by a severely alcoholic writer who took his own life two weeks after production was underway, furthering the disconcerting vibe to a saturation point. This one is a tough watch, and you'll be forced to see two human beings at the absolute end of the road, miles past rock bottom with seemingly no hope in sight. And yet, if you are patient and try to empathize, you will see the kind of flickering positivity and briefly life -affirming intimacy and light that humans cling to even in the darkest of times. Cage and Shue beautifully paint a bittersweet portrait of this through their work. It's overbearing with the better, but that makes the sweet all the more precious and lasting. Just watch something happy after.